Spaces In Between
by Jaynesdingleberries
Summary: A girl and a Yautja...perfect bliss. Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: A Day Without Tears

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! I have a lease.**

**Jaynesdingleberries presents: A Day Without Tears**

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I met a traveler from an antique land  
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  
Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,  
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,  
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,  
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;  
And on the pedestal these words appear:  
My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,  
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!  
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare  
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

_Ozymandius- _Percy Bysshe Shelley

_Eleanor's Perspective:_

"What good are you?" she asked the mirror bitterly, but received no answer but her own heart-sore visage staring back at her. She sighed in response to her own question and looked down at her hands where they loosely grasped the edges of the bathroom sink; they were good hands she supposed, wide palmed and long fingered. They were fit for hard work and were bigger and stronger than most women's hands; in that way they matched the rest of her.

Eleanor was a farm-girl, there was no getting around that fact; she was stocky and solidly built with wide shoulders and limbs thick with muscle and at 5'7" she usually was taller than the other girls making her feel bulky and gigantic in comparison. She wasn't without a layer of feminine padding either; on less muscular women the shape would be called _curvy _but on her it looked less flattering and she was well aware of it.

She was more than aware of other things she considered to be defects. The space between her front teeth was a bit too wide, her face was a bit too round, her forehead a tad too high, and her auburn hair was slightly too brown. She had a list of other things too…she was tone-deaf, tactless, and sometimes a bit clumsy.

But she did try to improve these things. She found a nice shade of red auburn that looked good on her; she learned how to smile without showing her teeth; she worked hard, walked everywhere that she could, and never sang where people could hear her. She learned to keep a polite blank face when dealing with other people, always careful in how she talked to them, making sure she wasn't offensive, and she kept a wary eye out for things that could easily be tripped on or bumped into. She made friends who shared her often oddball sense of humor and was open and carefree at times. But she never ever left herself open to be hurt.

Except this time.

She hated crushes, she really did. They were little insidious things that could blind a person to reality; Eleanor had been blinded, and blindsided. It wasn't as if she had "set her hopes high", as her friend Samantha was wont to say. Eleanor didn't hope for the buff guys or the handsome sweathearts; those types of guys tended to like the small girls with slim bodies and delicate hands who were at least a head shorter than them. No, she had crushed on Aaron, a tall but average guy she hung out with; he wasn't really handsome, or buff, or even that couth…but she didn't care too much.

And now, her hopes were shattered, she looked in the mirror and stilled her face to absolute calm. Aaron had a girlfriend, she had found out today. A small delicate girl with huge brown eyes, blond hair, and a tinny laugh. But Eleanor was nothing if not fair; Tiffany was very pretty, and when it came to psychology reports she was boss; she was funny, witty, and at times downright cute.

So Eleanor, a stoic steady girl called Ellie by most, let the hope go. It hurt, a deep and twisting hurt, but on a farm you knew how to deal with many degrees of pain. So she took in a deep breath and held it for a count of ten and expelled it. Then did it again. She blinked cool blue eyes and checked in the mirror; nope no tears.

Eleanor pushed away from the sink, to all appearances calm and controlled, unaffected by the last two hours of her life. It was time to go back to class and do some sculpture. That is what she was good at, clay. Inanimate and lifeless, forgiving if her hands were a little too rough. It was good.

She turned away from the restroom mirror and went out the heavy door to look on a bright and beautiful California afternoon at college. She sighed again, whishing she hadn't just left a part of her inside.

A part that just wanted to be with someone.


	2. Chapter 2: Pent Up

**Disclaimer: It is not mine. So sad.**

**Jaynesdinglberries presents: Pent Up**

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Shr'k was in a rage; there was no other word for it. He felt as if there was a fire deep inside his belly that would not desist, an urge to find Thr'kyo'te and rip him apart. But to the other Yautja he showed his stoic face; he did not roar in his anger, nor did he tear into the others as a sign of his frustration.

Instead he stood stiffly in full Awu'asa at the observation portal a few rooms away from the Bridge, his mask slung on his belt, staring at the stars as they sped by; the constant tapping of his claws the only sign of his mood. And for those who knew him well they understood that it was a last ditch effort to keep from exploding. He reserved his wrath for those that deserved it, in that way he was different from his sire.

The Warrior Hr'ta found him there, late in the ship's cycle.

"Glare at the pane anymore and it will combust, Mei'hswei; we will all die from an air leak." He said in a wry click, not at all afraid of the large Yautja's temper and certainly not concerned with how informal he had been in calling Shr'k brother. They had been fast companions since puphood, working their way through the harsh hunter training and later they became Young Bloods together on the same Kainde Amedha Chiva. Hr'ta of all the others understood what Shr'k was feeling now.

If it had been _his _sister who had been raped and beaten by a Bad Blood then he didn't doubt he would be raging like Shr'k was now; with the exception that he had never had the self-control that the bigger Yautja possessed and would've likely been restrained to prevent damage to the DropShip until it landed and they were ready to hunt the Bad Blood.

Shr'k grunted; but kept staring out of the clear pane, seeing Ig'Nya's battered face and then imagining his hands choking the life out of Thr'kyo'te's puny body before mutilating it. The tapping of his claws on the sill increased in tempo and a low, threatening growl came from deep within his chest. He, like all the males in his kin-clan adored the only female pup that his mother bore before she died.

Hr'ta hadn't expected a reply, but he continued anyway with the knowledge that he could handle most anything Shr'k could throw at him if need came; "The gkinmaru (ship's scanners) are reading signs of his ship's passing; he is near. On the Pyode Amedha world."

This elicited a response.

"How long?" Shr'k growled out, his lower mandibles clicking with an almost tender gentleness; again Hr'ta marveled at the breadth of his control, he seemed so unaffected but his scent belied his true emotions. There was an eagerness to hunt, an obsessively vicious eagerness. And the anger, which had become a part of his personal scent for the last three months.

"Five to seven hours, depending on the local weather conditions." Hr'ta supplied, then shivered lightly, hid upper mandibles clacking unhappily. "Speaking of weather, it's freezing in here or didn't you notice?"

"I am warm," Shr'k hissed, annoyed by his old friend's chatter; but he spoke truthfully. His anger warmed him from inside and the chill of the observation deck didn't seep away enough of it.

At the hiss Hr'ta felt silent and leaned against the wall with a suppressed sigh. There was the sound he'd been waiting for. That particular hiss signaled that Shr'k was ready now. His aggression had been pent up for far too long; it was time to release some. So Hr'ta did the one thing he knew guaranteed to make his friend better: he hit him hard across the back of his high domed head where his waist-length locks and uppermost cranial ridge connected.

The force of the hit sent Shr'k reeling into the window portal face-first; Hr'ta would have laughed at the picture Shr'k made with his mandibles all smashed flat into the window if he didn't know what was about to happen.

Shr'k came up fast with a roar, his fist swinging.

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Shr'k felt much better, he decided after leaving the observation room an hour and a half later; his hands were speckled with light flecks of florescent green. He wasn't concerned for Hr'ta's health though. His old friend had been through much worse in training bouts.

The low groans behind him made him turn around and look through the doorway; he smiled to see Hr'ta sitting up, his lower left mandible hanging a bit loosely.

"Pauk-de," he mumbled with a wince.

"What are you complaining about, Mei'hswei? It was your idea." Shr'k said almost lightly, glad for the release that fighting gave him. It allowed him to focus his energy on the hunt to come. Then, in a more serious tone, "I thank you."

Hr'ta grinned as best he could, his sore mandible hanging limp, "Welcomb."

Sar'k snorted and clicked in amusement; "Go to the medics, get that fixed. We can't have glib Hr'ta speaking like he had too much C'ntlip today!"

"An' fwere fwill you be?" Hr'ta wheezed as he levered his three hundred pound body up from the grated floors with a cracking groan.

"Elder Dr'ne'dya asked that I stand with him when we begin to land, " Shr'k said, and his eyes hardened at the thought of his sire, gray tinged and tall. This was not going to be easy. He sighed forcefully, readjusted his mask on his belt and started towards the Bridge where he could hear Dr'ne'dya roaring out orders.

Where Shr'k had internalized his anger about Thr'kyo'te's attack on Ig'Nya. Their father had let it burst from him like a volcano to scorch anyone in its path. Waiting in the Bridge was going to be difficult, and not just because the Warrior males in Shr'k's kin-clan had difficulties making nice with one another.

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A/N Reviews please! They are like truffles, always a good thing to have!

Names:

Shr'k**Shrek**

Thr'kyo'te**Therk yo ta**

Hr'ta**Hurta**

Ig'Nya**Eeg niya**

Mei'hswei**May sway**

Dr'ne'dya**Der nay deeya**


	3. Storm Rising

**I am Fictioning; that is what a friend of mine calls writing fanfic. I happen to like the term. :) **

**ANd yes, I do not own.**

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That souls would leave this blessedness,

be willing a second time to bear the sluggish body,

trade Paradise for earth?

_The Aeneid- _Virgil

_Eleanor's Perspective:_

She checked her list again to make sure she had everything for the storm. Food for the goats, dogs, cats, and birds: check. Food for herself: check. Extra matches, starter logs, and a pile of free newspapers for the woodstove: check. A new pair of boots, because her last pair had been stepped in bleach at work so many times that they had degraded in holey messes; yep, got that. Batteries for the radio, if it would even work during the storm: check. Four cans of gas for the generator and candles for when the generator went out: check and check.

Eleanor frowned. She had that sneaking suspicion that she was forgetting something. She sat in her Chevy Cheyenne outside of Wal-Mart, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. She knew, she just knew she had forgotten to put something important on the list, but for the life of her, Eleanor simply couldn't remember what it was.

_I'll remember it when I'm half-way home, _she thought to herself wryly. The thing was home was over an hour's drive away, part on blacktop and then thirteen miles of dirt road which, judging by the dark gathering of clouds outside and the persistent sprinkle on her windshield, would be plenty muddy by the time she got to it.

"Damn," she said to herself and decided to start heading back; with a last, hopeless glance at the list, the last stop reading 'Check the mail on the way back' she sighed. Checking the mail wasn't the thing she was thinking of, but it would have to do.

"Come on, Ortega. Time to go home;" she said to the truck as she turned the key in the ignition; the familiar roar of the engine coming to life was comforting; at least there wasn't anything wrong with the transportation. Nothing like the truck going out somewhere along the road. Breaking down on a dirt road that didn't have cell service miles from the nearest town… it had happened before and it was in no way an appealing thought. _So don't jinx yourself, _she thought, carefully backing out of her space and pulling out of the parking lot.

Eleanor never liked driving, rolling in a large metal container on wheels never really appealed to her. So she drove carefully, slowly, a hard eye out for other drivers; there was a last minute rush for supplies to outlast this storm, just like her. The traffic was thick, and she had a long way to go. It was going to be a long drive home.

She sighed as someone pulled out in front of her with a squeal of tires and worked to calm her beating heart, she really didn't like driving; yep, it was gonna be a long drive home.

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It had been longer than anticipated; the brooding clouds had opened up ten minutes after leaving the store and by the time she had reached the dirt of her road, sending buckets of rain down to wash it out and leave it a muddy mess. Halfway home the storm started to intensify, and she could see the drops alternating with slush, and that's when she realized that what she had forgotten. Tire-chains, for driving in the snow.

This last winter had been harsh, and the constant running from home to town in the snow had worn hard on the last pair of tire-chains and later the cables when the chains had broke. She still had that pair of cables; Eleanor snorted, she didn't trust cables on her road, it was rough and at times treacherous, and cables broke at every turn.

Eleanor growled and cursed her luck. If she managed to get home there would likely be little to no chance of her getting back into town until the storm had completely blown over; remembering how emphatic the meteorologists had been on the subject, the storm was going to last a good long while.

"Pauk," she spat, then frowned, wondering what the hell she had just said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Chase and Fall**

**Me No ownee.**

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Shr'k could feel the enamel on his mandibles scraping off one another as the appendages ground harshly together. His arms were tightly bunched with the effort of keeping the ship's nose level and his legs braced on either side of the steering shaft giving him manual control of the tail thrusters now that the autopilot had been destroyed by Thr'kyo'te's short range rifles; his limbs occupied, only a flick of his long tongue to the buttons on the inside of his mask quieted the communications with the DropShip.

For the last ten minutes Dr'ne'dya 's roars commanding his son to come to his senses and return had all but deafened him as Shr'k muscled his shuttle through the storm cell in pursuit of the Yautja he had once called friend.

"Pauk!" he cursed as his prey eluded him once again by slipping through a dark cloud that rippled with wild electricity waiting to be discharged. Thr'kyo'te's shuttle was lost in the turbulent and shaking mass; Shr' grimly followed.

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It had been a simple thing, to find the Bad Blood on such a miniscule planet especially such a cool one; not only was the heat signature of his craft unmistakable, but the bloodstink that had surrounded it when they had searched through the small twisted halls of the shuttle had been almost blinding to the Yautjas' sensitive scent pores. Thr'kyo'te had been hunting in that area for some time, killing indiscriminately, by the looks of the carcasses scattered around his shuttle and the bodies of creatures hanging in the trees, some of which were obviously far too immature to be honorable kills.

The sight of the butchered carcasses, of breeding females strung up and skinned along with the males, and tiny fetuses all in pitiful little rows and blackened bloody lumps where they had rotten and fallen like plump overripe fruit to splatter …it had caused even unshakable Hunters such as Hr'ta, his broodmates and their sire, J'liin Coldspike himself, to permeate the scent of outrage. The readiness for the kill had been high in those few moments, when the hunters and youngbloods all together flooded the air with the overpowering scent of anger.

Each one had been ready to rip into the nearest person just to relieve the tension but Dr'ne'dya had pulled them together with a harshly barked order.

The males had been set to make a trap here, to be sprung when Thr'kyo'te returned from his latest voyage into the Pyode Amedha community not six miles away. Ten hunters and youngbloods had been set to capture the Badblood, and the others to chase him into the trap; Shr'k had been among chasers, nothing could keep him away from the action and he was simply too tightly strung to lay quietly in wait. He had wanted to run the bad blood down and taste Thr'kyo'te's fear stink on the air before ripping his spine out of his back.

He had been a hairsbreath away from plunging his clawed hands into the unprotected meat of Thr'kyo'te's back when the inexperienced blunder of a youngblood had allowed the prey to escape. A pathway had opened and one of the hunter's own shuttles had been stolen from them, the Bad Blood at the controls.

That had been the moment, when with crystalline clarity of months of barely suppressed aggression had come raging to the foreground, and Shr'k had lost what little control he had.

Shr'k had found himself strangling young K'rja, the pup assigned to watching the hunter's concealed craft during the maneuver, when the others broke his grip on the young one's throat. After that, his instincts had kicked in: being so close to the one whom he had sought for all these months and losing him was not an acceptable situation and his feet already knew the way to go.

Shr'k had ran to Thr'kyo'te's own ship and brought it to full power in a matter of a minute and before the others could board with him, had taken the fleet winged bird into the air in pursuit.

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Thr'kyo'te had lead him a merry chase from the roasting hot climates of the planet's southern jungles to the northern climes, had lost his pursuer a number of times before Shr'k had found him again and again, doggedly refusing to let go of the trail.

Then the Bad Blood had done something somewhat daring and foolish; he had flown directly into a winter storm, and Shr'k had done something equally as foolish…he had followed him.

This was the game the two Yautja played with one another, a dodge and weave, cat chasing mouse; neither would know how it would end however.

Because then the lightning struck…

…and Shr'k's ship went down.


End file.
